#bitcher

New: Netflix’s The Bitcher

Business. An exchange of goods and coin. Nothing to do with the way Ensa’s eyes light up at copper and silver, with the way Broc’s hands rub together upon seeing a rare text, with the way Tusson smiles and leans closer when Geralt starts pulling eyes and tongues out of his bag. 

Those smiles are for his money and his wares, not for him. He’s worth nothing to them if he’s not buying or selling. 

---

(Ensa makes bells with some of the metals Geralt brings her. The hammer of her profession has taken some of her hearing, she says; he tells her when the bells ring true, and she tells him the latest gossip, updates on which nobles have money and monster problems. She’s in Kaedwen, one of his first and last stops on the Path.)

(Geralt finds a few scrolls written during one of the Conjunctions stashed in a troll’s cave, and when he shows them to Broc in Novigrad, Broc shoves a book of armor diagrams into his hands along with a hefty purse. Hmm. Witcher gear must be out of fashion at the auction houses.) 

(Tusson gives him live herbs from their garden and asks him to plant them at a crossroads. “Propogation is good for business. More places to harvest from.” Eventually, the ingredients for Swallow flourish around all the crossroads in Aedirn. Easy healing for Witchers passing through; easier pickings for herbalists who live there full-time.) 

(Useful. He’s useful to them. At least they don’t mind being useful to him in return.) 

---

Jaskier gives him gwent cards, sometimes. (“Won it off my comely companion from last night. Strip gwent, Geralt! You should try it.”) 

Pastries, other times. When they encounter a baker, Jaskier usually pulls a spare coin from his boot and buys whatever’s apple-filled---Geralt’s favorite, because then he can share half with Roach. (“I got one for Roach too, of course. What do you take me for?”)

Mostly money isn’t involved. 

Instead, Jaskier does things like steal all but one of Geralt’s hair ties for a week and return them when they’re dyed black enough to suit his fancy. (“Now they’ll go with the rest of your outfit!”) Like anyone cares how a Witcher looks, least of all the Witcher in question. 

Jaskier sees winter cress on the path and says, “Oh, those match your eyes!” He spends an hour weaving an elaborate flower necklace, only to give it to Roach for a snack when they’re going through a bog.

When there’s enough light to write by, there are stories scribbled on spare parchment, tales that Jaskier modifies with increasing ridiculousness, trying to lift the stern shield across Geralt’s face and get him to reveal an amused twitch of his lips, a mirthful crinkle around his eyes. (“Oh, Sir Fair, I fear that your penetrating log---your banquet-sized sausage---your hip-heaving halberd---aha, there it is!---I fear that your hip-heaving halberd will leave me spoiled for all other polearms.”) When Geralt leaves for Kaer Morhen, he finds them stuffed in his saddlebag with a note saying that he can use them for kindling if he wants. He brings them to the keep instead. 

Once, Jaskier spends ten minutes staring at stag beetles fighting on a log before noticing that Geralt is staring at him, and then he abruptly begins a stag beetle dialogue, underdog challenger versus heavyweight champion, and he leaves room for Geralt to voice the underdog if he wants.

(“And what do you have to say in the aftermath of your stunning upset victory?”

Geralt sighs, finally gives in, and says his most satisfied-sounding, “Hmmm.”

Jaskier dedicates the resulting beetle battling poem to him in order to commemorate the occasion.)

Black leather. Apple tarts. Poems. A Witcher’s life hasn’t prepared him for this kind of economy. What’s the value of a flower necklace, braided and eaten? 

---

On the path from Kaer Morhen, Geralt sees an ammonite poking out beneath the melting snow, the curl of its shell perfectly preserved, and stops Roach so he can pick it up. It’s not anything special. The land around Kaer Morhen used to be a sea, long ago, and the rock-wrapped bones of her old inhabitants are everywhere. 

He slips the ammonite into his saddlebag. Still plenty of room for Ensa’s future bells when he finds them, and some people haven’t seen this part of Kaedwen.

As he crosses the Mahakam Mountains, one of the region’s massive vultures wheels above him and drops a primary feather right in his path. Tusson bought most of the monster parts from his saddlebags, but even if they hadn’t, a feather is hardly a burden. He stores it in one of his longer potion vials. There’s a joke he might make about songbirds versus scavengers.  

In Novigrad, Broc hands him a small purse in exchange for the books Geralt took from a bruxa’s lair, and then he slides a little pamphlet across the counter to him. 

It’s a copy of Jaskier’s beetle battling poem. 

“Not a coin, but I thought I would toss it to you anyway, seeing as you’re in the dedication. I particularly liked the allegory about getting your muse to speak to you.” Broc winks at him. “Never hurts to invest in young artists.” 

Broc has never winked at him before, not in twenty-odd years. Geralt stumbles through his thank-you. Jaskier is clearly a terrible influence. 

A terrible influence that he might just run into again, given that he’s near Oxenfurt. But that’s all right. Geralt has made his preparations, the way he always does with monsters, with merchants, and now with bards. 

Yennefer: Uh... Sure?

Ciri: It's called "Roach or Jaskier". I give you actual quotes I've heard Geralt say, and you guess if he was talking to his horse or to his boyfriend.

Yennefer:

Me: i cant do it. I cant-

My brain: STFU. DO IT. cuddling! hand holding! Picnics! Long walks on the beach! Sunset! Hugs! Soft! Pure! Wholesome!

Me, beginning to type: smut, pwp, fwb, sexual tension, sensuality,

My brain: no. NO!

Me, panicking, yet continuing to type: IT’S NOT WORKING

My brain: get your hands off the keyboard you fool. *sigh* now. let’s start small. How about hand holding.

Me, typing: “as A’s nimble fingers traced along B’s calloused palms, all B could think was, god what those fingers could do, how they’d feel inside-

My brain: STOP.

-wtf??? Your latest job was supposed to be easy, you said so!!

- this kikimora was tough

-i can't leave you even for one second. im coming home right away